


The Space Between the Trees

by peacefrog



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tree in the living room stands seven feet tall, shimmering with silver and dripping in elegant crystal ornaments. Beneath it sits a single gift, wrapped in gold paper and white silk ribbon. Strings of twinkling lights flow seamlessly throughout the room, glinting off every surface. Their home is alive with elegant, festive colors, and for a moment Will is certain he has fallen into another dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between the Trees

Will dreams of Wolf Trap for the first time in years. Snow falls softly all around, catching in his lashes and gathering high on the toes of his boots. Winston is circling his heels, tail flapping wildly and swatting against the backs of his legs. He whimpers, looking out into the night, and Will can feel the eyes on him, spots the antlers just inside the line of trees surrounding the house.

Winston barks, growling low in his throat, and behind him Will can hear the cacophony of sounds arising from the rest of the pack. He doesn’t feel the fear, although it hangs heavy in the air. He doesn’t feel it for the spark of red eyes amongst the trees. He doesn’t feel it for the inky blackness of the hooves shining in the moonlight. He doesn’t feel it when he sees there is not only one standing watch. Two sets of eyes are emerging in the distance.

The dogs slowly back away, terrified as they cower behind their master, some making for the safety of the little house across the field. Winston gazes up at Will, calm now that he sees he is unaffected by the two massive racks of antlers coming at them from the shadows. Snow gathers on the tips of their mangled horns, melting when it touches their skin, steam rising into the frigid air.

The creatures make their way into the yard, monstrous forms with bodies darker than the sky above. Snow crunches beneath their hooves, then sizzles hot in their wake, puddles forming on the ground with every step they take. They raise their spindly fingers, joining hands as the distance between them and Will grows shorter.

The snow falls harder now, near blinding as it swirls through the air, catching in Will’s throat as he tries to breathe, threatening to suffocate. The creatures are close enough to touch, barely visible through the snow, the drumming of their hearts now deafening to his ears. Still, Will feels only calm, reaching out to touch as the blizzard rages on...

—

Will wakes to the delicious smells he’s become accustomed to in the early morning hours. Delicate spices mingle with fresh coffee in the air, pulling Will out of his dream, smile spreading across his face.

Breakfast in bed is an unexpected surprise, Hannibal always insisting they eat at the table, but Will is certainly not complaining. Hannibal crosses the threshold into the bedroom, tray in hand, the sound of festive music following him in from the hall.

“I never pegged you as the Christmas type.” Will says, staring down at the tray decorated in brilliant shades of red and gold.

“Constantine was the first Christian Roman emperor, and the first to celebrate the holiday honoring the birth of Christ on December twenty-fifth, a date chosen to coincide with existing pagan festivals.” Hannibal says, perching on the edge of the bed. “Before that time, the most significant Christian holidays were Epiphany and Easter.”

“And now we eat omelets in bed over history lessons.”

“It’s important to understand the traditions passed down to us.” Hannibal brushes the curls back from Will’s brow. “And I thought you would enjoy a little celebration.”

“A celebration?”

“Come downstairs when you’re finished.” Hannibal presses a soft kiss to Will’s forehead, lips skimming the scar tissue he left there.

—

Will slept for maybe six hours, and he’s certain Hannibal was next to him for at least four of those. How he managed to decorate the house to such an extent and serve him breakfast in bed in so little time is beyond Will’s comprehension. Then again, it is Hannibal Lecter, for whom time seems to be merely a suggestion.

The tree in the living room stands seven feet tall, shimmering with silver and dripping in elegant crystal ornaments. Beneath it sits a single gift, wrapped in gold paper and white silk ribbon. Strings of twinkling lights flow seamlessly throughout the room, glinting off every surface. Their home is alive with elegant, festive colors, and for a moment Will is certain he has fallen into another dream.

“How did you…”

“Never ask,” Hannibal presses against him from behind, strong arms wrapping around Will’s waist. “Best to leave some things to the imagination.”

“Did you chop down that tree yourself?” Will is only half joking, he honestly wouldn’t be surprised at this point.

“Will,” Hannibal says firmly. “Please.”

He leads Will to sit in front of the roaring fireplace. The stockings that hang from the mantle are embroidered with their names. When Hannibal joins him on the floor, he holds the box Will spotted beneath the tree delicately in his hand.

“There was a time when we first settled here that I thought for certain you would try to leave me.”

“There was a time I was certain I would, too,” Will says, searching Hannibal’s face for any sign of surprise. “It would have been easy.”

“And why didn’t you?” Hannibal asks, face betraying him. He already knows the answer.

“It would be simpler to sever a limb. Carve out my own heart. Serve it to you on a platter.”

“I prefer your heart right where it is.” Hannibal places a hand on Will’s chest, warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt. “Keeping perfect time with my own.”

Hannibal presses the box into Will’s palm. It’s no bigger than a deck of cards. The paper seems to be alive with the glimmer of a hundred pins of light coming from every corner of the room.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Will says, as if this spontaneous celebration of Christmas was something they had discussed previously.

“We both know that’s not true.”

The weight of Hannibal’s words make Will’s chest ache.

Will can feel Hannibal’s gaze on him as he unties the ribbon. It’s as if those eyes followed him out of his dream, piercing right down to his soul, shocking in their adoration. He discards the ribbon, delicately removing the gold paper and slowly opening the box on its hinges once he’s tossed it aside.

Staring up at him are two identical rings, slim bands of gold nestled inside the dark blue velvet lining the box. Will has to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing.

“Hannibal, I—”

When Will looks up at him, Hannibal ducks his head, face open and vulnerable. The last time Will saw that expression they were standing on the edge of the world, moments before they tumbled into the sea.

“There was a time I feared you would leave,” Hannibal says, finally, daring to meet Will’s gaze. “But you have put those fears to rest.”

“Are you asking what I think you’re asking?” Will still wants to laugh, but he’s filled with something else, too. Warmth spreads right down to his bones.

“We cannot legally wed in our current situation, of course, but in every other sense...” Hannibal averts his gaze again, bashful in a way that takes Will by surprise. “I am.”

Will dumps both rings in his hand, making a fist and feeling the cool metal press against his palm. When he opens his hand, the gold glints in the light of the fire, and for a moment it’s as if he holds two tiny flames flickering against his skin.

“Okay,” Will says, smiling softly when he sees the expression on Hannibal’s face. He’s more awestruck than Will has ever seen him.

“Good,” is the only word Hannibal can manage.

“Good.” Will smiles, taking Hannibal’s hand and slipping the slightly larger band onto his finger. “Would you?” He presses the smaller band into Hannibal’s palm.

“Of course.” Hannibal slips the ring onto his finger, pressing a soft kiss to Will’s knuckles before bringing their mouths together, and Will is certain he spies a sprig of mistletoe out of the corner of his eye.

—

Will can’t stop staring at the band wrapped around his finger. All day, as Hannibal serves him lunch out on the veranda, as he plays Will every holiday song in his repertoire on the harpsichord, as he serves him the most delicious cocoa he’s ever tasted in his life, the ring never leaves his line of sight for long.

Will places his hand atop Hannibal’s at the dinner table, fingers like claws, and for a moment they grow spindly and dark, gilded talons in the candlelight.

He wonders why he feels no different now, why this ring hasn’t changed something in his chest, why there has been no sudden shift in the air between them. He looks at the poinsettias overflowing on the table, aside from the theme, and the few grams of gold resting against his skin, this dinner is just like any other.

His eyes meet Hannibal’s across the table. Neither one of them is able to stop smiling.

—

“I’ve been trying to figure out why today, of all days, you decided to do this,” Will says, Hannibal reading beside him on the bed. “It’s not as if you ever need an excuse for a celebration.”

“And what have you concluded?” Hannibal peers at Will over the top of his reading glasses.

“I remembered how I told you once we never really had Christmas as a kid. How we had sad little trees and hardly any presents. How after a while my dad couldn’t afford even that.” Will fidgets with the ring on his finger, pressing the metal into his flesh. “You wanted to give me something I never had. Something I always wanted.”

“And how did I do?”

“Very well,” Will assures him, curling into Hannibal’s side, Hannibal dropping his book and pulling Will close to lie against his chest. “But I didn’t need Christmas for that. And we don’t need these rings.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal presses a kiss to the top of Will’s head. “Perhaps I should return them.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Will gazes up at him. “I’m already yours. You’re already mine.”

“I know.”

“You see me. I see you. That’s all I need, Hannibal.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to marry me?”

“I’m saying we already are. We already were. Even before you slipped this ring on my finger.”

“Yes,” Hannibal whispers into Will’s hair. “I suppose we were.”

“But…” Will nuzzles into Hannibal’s chest, sighing contentedly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my love.”

The last thing Will is conscious of before drifting off to sleep is the drag of Hannibal’s hand against his back, slim band of gold cool against his skin.


End file.
